FicWad

Chapter Three


Seamus handfasted to a woman called Bridget in the Summer after Dow's eighteenth birthing. She was a pretty woman, full of spirit and mirth, with a beautiful smile. They built a home, and Dow helped them move Seamus' and Bridget's things into their new home.

He marveled at it. It seemed tiny, compared to Draga and Edain's. Seamus had smiled, and ruffled Dow's bangs.

"It's big to me, my little deer. And it'll be plenty big enough." And to that, Dow had no argument; it had a nice feel, standing in the middle of the it and looking about.

Bridget had smiled and laughed; "You'll be a good uncle, Dow, to come about here." He had blinked at her, and Seamus had grinned, flushing a little at the ears; he'd asked Dow not to tell Draga and Edain.

He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd tell them.

Llewellyn came about-he was part of Seamus' hunting party-and congratulated them warmly. Then, he and Dow had stolen away.

They had sat by the river, Llewellyn sprawled on the pebbled bank, Dow standing knee-deep in the cool water. Llewellyn smiled at the sky, shook his hair out of his face.

"It would be nice to be like that one day, wouldn't it?" he murmured. Dow chuckled, almost bitterly.

He retorted, "You'd have to tell Fionn where you've been running off to first. I'd have to live through that." Llewellyn gave him a long, odd look, and Dow flushed a little, staring down at his feet in the water; he'd spoken swiftly and without a thought.

Things had changed, he knew. Llewellyn had only said that he didn't think much of the girls; where Dow had not spoken on the matter, stating his opinion on the whole thing in the long run. Of course, he had seen the women Fionn showed off to his son; of course, he had seen the pretty girls who Llewellyn would sit and laugh with on occasion

Dow was no fool, though he was still young. And he was sure Llewellyn knew that, knew that he knew about the girls.

Still, it was disheartening to see that look in Llewellyn's eyes.

"Forget that," he uttered, shaking his head, trying to ignore the suspicious sting in his eyes. He waded back to the bank, and wiped his feet dry and clean with his shirt, slipping his feet into his boots jerkily, well aware of Llewellyn's intent gaze.

He halted when Llewellyn grabbed his leg, and looked down at the lighter youth, cocking a brow angrily.

"Have I done something?" he asked, sounding almost genuinely confused. Dow rolled his eyes a little, and scoffed. He jerked his leg away, and strode off from the river, grumbling under his breath.

Edain was standing over the stove in the house, and cocked a brow at Dow's angry entrance. He breathed deeply of the sharp, pleasant smell of whatever she was working on, and slammed himself down at the table, watching her as he cradled his head in his arms. She smiled lightly.

"What's the matter, my little stag? You look like the sky's falling about you."

"Did you know about Draga and Sion?"

Edain halted, her hand poised over the pot she was working with, and she turned back to look at her son, cocking a brow slightly. Her lips broke in a slight laugh and smile, and she shook her head a bit, more out of befuddlement than negation, as she dumped her handful into the pot.

"I did."

"Did Sion ever do anything about you and Draga being together?"

She thought about that, stirring absently, her back half-turned to her work. After a moment, she sighed, and shrugged one delicate shoulder.

"If he had, I never heard of it. What brought all this up then? I hadn't thought you'd known about Him." Dow blushed a little, and burrowed his head into his arms, inhaling the smoky scent of the table. "Dow? What's wrong?"

"How did you know you loved Draga?"

She was quiet a moment, before she chuckled and offered, "I didn't love him, until after we had Gwyn."

Dow sat up sharply, cocking a brow. Edain smiled a little sadly, and shook her head.

"Draga begot Seamus with me. We were handfasted, much to his upset, to protect him in the village-both Draga and Seamus: the situation with Sion, my presence with his child; it complicated things. I cannot say I was too happy with the situation either."

"Why not raise Seamus on your own?"

"Then I wouldn't have you." She stroked his cheek affectionately, and sighed when he shook his head. "What would you like me to say, Dow? That I was sixteen and didn't know what to do with myself?"

Dow found that a bit hard to believe; Edain always knew what to do with herself. She smiled, as though she knew what he was thinking, and nodded a little, shrugging her shoulder again as she turned his attention back to her task.

She spoke softly after a beat: "This has to do with Fionn's boy?"

"Yes."

She finished her work, and set it aside. With a sigh, she stretched her back, and settled at the table with him. Taking his hand gently, she turned him toward her, and offered a consoling smile.

"Tell me what's happening, now. Tell me what the matter is."The snow was thick, but not deep. It clung to his boots and thighs and back, and chilled him, bone deep, through the cloak they'd thrown over the ground to try and fend off as much of the cold as they could.

He shivered, and couldn't quite say whether it was from the snow around them, or what Llewellyn was doing so wondrously to his body. With a quiet noise, he writhed against the cloak, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his fingers tugging at long ginger tresses.

The snow was clinging to his eyelashes, melting and running with tears down his cheeks to turn his cheeks a dark pink from cold and passionate flush. He gasped, and pulled Llewellyn away from his intent practice, kissing his lips until they were hungrily bruised, wrapping his arms around the older youth's neck as though he were about to drown.

When they pulled back, Dow traced the scar that seemed to lengthen Llewellyn's already lean face. He wondered why he had not gone off to battle with Llewellyn, when most of the other men had-even his father had; even Seamus had, and he had a new babe fresh on the ground.

Llewellyn covered his hand, and concealed the wound that had so freshly begun to heal over. It was a dark, obtrusive thing to most. Dow thought it a beautiful testament to Llewellyn's dedication to the village.

They kissed again, and settled, wrapped around each other, to listen to the snow shift over the trees, and over them. He chuckled softly, and wormed his way as close to Llewellyn as he could, his cold fingers teasingly brushing over warm flesh and making the older youth hiss slightly.

"I'll be twenty soon," he murmured as they lay there, Llewellyn playing with Dow's dark hair, Dow simply breathing in the sharp leather and musk scent of Llewellyn. Long fingers paused against his scalp, and Llewellyn slowly nodded.

Dow continued without looking up at his companion; "Fionn will want you to marry soon."

"Why do you bring him in to such things as this, Dow?" Llewellyn's voice was annoyed and pained. He pulled away a little, staring down at Dow, who remained pleasantly sprawled against the dark cloak, meeting Llewellyn's gaze evenly.

"Because you will not." He grumbled darkly, and turned his gaze away, refusing to look at Dow for a very long time, until he was saying, "Does Fionn even know about this?"

"If he did, I'd not be here." And he turned back, shoving Dow down-though he was already-and leaning over him menacingly. "And if I marry, I cannot see you. Then what would I do? I do not love these girls, Dow."

"Do you love me?"

He had never expected, in the five years of their friendship, that he would be the one to break that silent, ominous line of questioning. Llewellyn blinked at him in surprise, balked for a moment, and stared agape at him for a good, long beat. Dow sighed, and turned his face away again; he shoved Llewellyn away, and glared out of the corner of his eye.

Dow growled, "If you did, you would not think of it. If you did, there would be no problem. You would tell your father. You would be around me for longer than a breath, and see me, not just when it suited your loins."

Llewellyn grumbled in turn, "I just haven't thought of it. I don't get much of a chance to. And if I told my father any of this-."

"Then what? You'd have to deal with a confrontation?" He slapped the scarred cheek, and snarled slightly, "What is this then? A trophy?"

"That is different."

"You love the village. How is this a difference?"

Llewellyn refused to answer. Dow scoffed, and straightened himself out, storming off from the other youth. He could hear the other following him, but refused to turn and face that. It was unnerving, to be pulled aside and used as he felt he was being so horribly used, and then to not see the other man for so long; and now, it would end.

Llewellyn caught his arm, and turned him, slamming him against the tree. They were at the edge of the forest, well within sight of the square. Dow struggled against the rougher hands, snarling darkly up at the ginger.

It took him a moment to realize that Llewellyn was kissing him, so well in sight of the village. He grumbled for a moment, nipping at his companion's lips, his tongue; tugging at his hair harshly. His arms ached from the grip on them, flexing powerfully in that long fingered, iron-like clench.

Llewellyn pulled back, his lip bloodied from Dow's teeth. Dow sneered, and spat at him angrily, turning his gaze away when it looked as though the older might retaliate in some fashion.

Instead, he grabbed Dow's chin, and tilted his head back against the tree as well, glowering down at him.

"What have I done?" he demanded tersely, his teeth clenched. Dow stared at the split in his lip, refusing to answer. The grip on his chin and arm tightened harshly, and he smothered a hiss of pain. "Dow. Tell me what I've done, or I can't fix it."

"Figure it out yourself!" he snarled darkly.

He brought his knee up between Llewellyn's legs, and darted away when he buckled, glaring down at him sharply.Yule came and went, and the year passed on far more quickly, Dow figured, than it rightfully should have.

Llewellyn did not come calling at the window at midnight, with a smiling mouth and offer of some pretty trinket he'd picked up from one place or another. Dow did not blame him the animosity or distance; he reveled in it for a while, trying to shove all thoughts of the other man from his mind as he focused on his craft, and becoming a better son.

He began to court a young woman called Melusine just after his nineteenth birthing. She was a relatively attractive young woman, with pale hair and eyes, and a personality he would later call 'washed out', but what he currently referred to as demure around Draga and Edain and his sisters.

Draga looked with sadness upon his youngest son, no doubt reminiscing the break of his own romance with Sion so many years before. Dow made a point to ignore or avoid him on the worst days of his memories, content to lock himself away somewhere, or go about the market with Melusine, or simply wander the forest.

He avoided the clearing where he and Llewellyn had met like a plague, but found a new one, where he took Melusine once, and laid with her beneath the moon.

It was not the same, he found, to lie with a woman instead of a man. Melusine was a shy girl, who giggled at his lightest touch, and grew flushed and worried when he stripped away their clothing; she made little sound in their love making, simply staring at him with watery eyes and letting her mouth gape with tiny gasps.

He walked her back to her father's house, kissed her cheek, and sobbed in his bed later that night, curled around himself and feeling utterly cold.

Summer whispered away toward Samhain and the new year. Seamus and Bridget bore a son-their second, but the first had died very young-whom they named Cael. The Paganing was quiet but important; Dow was glad for the distraction.

There was a minor feast for this newest birth, and much congratulations for the parents.

Dow learned that Melusine had handfasted to a young man calling himself Arca, and had borne a child. The babe was suspiciously dark of hair and eyes, but nobody thought anything of it-sometimes the gods came upon the women in their men. He carefully kept his mouth shut. They named the babe Naoise.

Samhain came upon them in a flourish of cold, dreary rain, which Dow willingly and shamelessly reveled in. He dressed well that night, and wandered about, invoked of a god of passing, welcoming those whom had passed: he gathered at Seamus and Bridget's, and spoke with them, with their first child; he wandered the streets, carrying about candles to place on the stoops of houses laid empty for a year and a day, bidding away the spirits there; at Irving and Uryen's home, he drank deeply of a strong wine.

He went into the forest, where there were others, dancing and singing loudly around a bale fire in the largest of the meadows therein. For a while, he danced with them, rejoicing in the easing of his misery for a while, before he whispered away, ever the wraith.

There was a man, dressed all in white, sitting under a tree near the river, running long, graceful fingers through the water that would soon begin to freeze over. He watched him for a long time, before sighing, and walking slowly over.

They did not speak. Llewellyn had not attempted to truly hide his face from the spirits, just painted it dark about the eyes and strung out his hair in a gracefully tousled fashion, as though he'd lain about in the forest for a day and a night, letting it treat him as it would.

His bright eyes rested long and hard on Dow's profile. He remained silent as he reached out one pale, cold hand, and brushed it slowly along the edge of the mask obscuring Dow's face.

He let the mask fall away, let the other man see the anguish deep in his eyes. Llewellyn looked away sadly, watching his hand trail through the cold water absently. Dow grabbed the hand that had fallen from his cheek, and held it there, trying to warm the digits.

He professed presently, "Melusine bore my child."

Llewellyn looked at him sharply, as though greatly betrayed. Dow shrugged one shoulder and continued, "I did not enjoy lying with her; we were together once, and then she was handfasted, and I far apart."

He did not say that he had cried, did not say that he had been thinking of Llewellyn when he had made love with Melusine, did not say that he had wished he knew quite what it would be like to lie with Llewellyn, any man, now that he had lain with a woman.

Llewellyn's hand was still on his cheek, his thumb idle and slowly warming. Dow looked over at him cautiously; he still had not spoke.

His scar was dark and ominous in the half-light of the pregnant moon rising golden over the ground. He drew his hand slowly from the water, wiped it dry on his robes, and leaned back against the tree, looking almost expectantly at Dow.

Dow moved slowly forward, as shy as any wild animal, and knelt between Llewellyn's spread knees, draping his chest along the older man's and wrapping his arms slowly around his neck, until their brows were nestled together, their breaths mingling between their mouths.

They kissed, slowly at first. And then it all came upon them like a firestorm, blazing through them as they gripped and shifted and became primal in their want-perhaps they had forgotten for a time their pleasures, and here was their release; or perhaps it was only that their break had proven that the one was not whole without the other.

In any sense, Dow found himself spread nude beneath the tree and mother moon, Llewellyn above him, as brilliantly pale as his robe. There was the pain of this, what he supposed must have been painful for Melusine as well, though in a different sense, and then he was clinging to Llewellyn's broad, strong shoulder, trying not to make the sounds he wished to, too frightened of calling the spirits around them to watch them in their meeting.

It was pleasant, if odd. Llewellyn's eyes glimmered darkly above them, catching the light of all the stars.

As Dow shuddered, staring blindly toward the heavens, Llewellyn whispered in his ear, "I do, Dow. I love you."

Later, Dow knew he had sobbed. Now, they dressed, kissed fleetingly, and passed along their ways.